


Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life)

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: GMILF original character, M/M, MTL Trick or Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: ThisMetalocalypse Trick or Treatfic is for the very talentedTanyon Lee, who asked for either a treat of “Very cute Skwistok!!” or a trick of “Skwisgaar and his gmiltf girlfriend XDDD.”It’s your lucky Halloween dude, because I wrote BOTH. In five parts. I hope you like 8300+ word fics.





	1. Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to the title, this story starts out found footage style and then gradually gets more and more third person omniscient. Because that's... just how it came to me, tbh.

_Excerpt from_ **_Skwisgaar Is Ams Dick_** _by T. Wartooth, chapter four (“Skwisgaar Is Ams Slut”), pages 132-133:_  

> _Everyones knows that Skwisgaar will does just abouts anybodies. That ain’ts the halfs of it! Every times ol’ Toki starts talkings to a beautiesful girl, Skwisgaar rolls right ups and starts the whisperings horny nothings to her ear what’s like I’m not theres. Fucking rudes! Then he goes and screws thems. Sometimes they don’t even bothers to leaves the room! And it’s not evens like whats the ladies are really sluts. Some ofs them ams real nice, whats have hopes and dreams and real goods teeth and everything. Some even haves the boobs thats am all naturals, just like mothers makes ‘em, though nots veries often ‘cause most groupies gets them sized ups whats to catch our attention betters._
> 
> _But anyways, the ladies ain’ts the sluts,_ Skwisgaar _ams. The ladies only wants to sleeps with likes four, maybies five guys, because we ams super mega famous. Skwisgaar ams the ones who doesn’ts cares whos he puts the you-know-whats sausage into sides of as longs as he gets to does it! You barlies ever see his ass with the sames lady twice!! He ams physicallies uns-capable of even gettings that close to settling downs and I can proves it. Ins this chapter I wills..._

_~_

“... In other news, Toki Wartooth seems to be on the Toki Warpath! He’s been arrested seventeen times in the last two months alone, and at last night’s Dethklok concert in Washington DC actually lept from the stage and started it all-out brawl. The incident ended up outing several ultra-conservative Senators and House Representatives as closet Dethklok fans, despite having made so much effort to distance themselves from the group in the past. Thanks to the staff at prominent DC hospitals that leaked copies of the intake forms to the press, they’ve got quite a bit of explaining to do to their constituents.

“And that’s the Dethklok Minute!”

~

_Groupie Debriefing Transcript_

_ID: 174849464438_

_[ x] Returning  
_ _[ x] Approved for return_

_On file:_

    [ x] Pain waiver  
    [ x] STI screen upon arrival  
_[ x] STI screen prior to debriefing  
_     [   ] Paternity waiver

    [ x] Medical record of infertility due to  
               [   ] Hysterectomy  
               [   ] Tubal ligation  
_[ x] Menopause  
_                [   ] Other: ________

Name: Beulah Rosenberg  
_Rating: GMILF  
_ Debriefing Agent: 7982

> _7982: Please state for the record which members of Dethklok you interacted with on this visit._
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Just Skwisgaar._
> 
> _7982: Skwigelf?_
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Is there more than one Skwisgaar floating around here, dear?_
> 
> _7982: Just being thorough, ma’am._
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Oh good. I don’t think he would like that, he’s a very sensitive boy you know. Being unique is very important to him._
> 
> _7982: I’m aware, ma’am. And what was the purpose of your visit?_
> 
> _ROSENBERG: I don’t kiss and tell, dear._
> 
> _7982: Um, okay. And you were with him from approximately_ _3:15pm yesterday to 8:45am this morning, is that correct?_
> 
> _ROSENBERG: That sounds about right. And we spent most of that time talking, for your information._
> 
> _7982: Talking? With Lord Skwigelf? Instead of, uh... I mean, isn’t that a bit unusual? In your experience? Which... you’ve been on file here for several years now._
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Eight years, nine next September. It is a bit of a change, but not necessarily a recent one. He’s been more introspective ever since... I’d say a little bit before his little band mate got kidnapped, but definitely more so after that._
> 
> _7982: And I see from our records that he’s been requesting your presence more often since roughly that time. Was all that, uh, mostly taking as well?_
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Well... mostly._
> 
> _7982: Grandma!_
> 
> _ROSENBERG: Oh for god’s sake, don’t be such a prude, Denis._  

~

_Therapy session transcript 5-625148-TW, excerpt:_

> _TWINKLETITS: So what’s been on your mind lately, Toki? What’s going on in that noggin?_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: Nothings._
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Toki, Toki. You’ve got to be honest in this room, okay buddy? It’s been a big year. Lots of things going on. Lots of things that sooner or later you’re gonna have to face head-on one way or another, and wouldn’t it be nice to do that in a safe, supportive environment?_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: Not reallies._
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: I know what’s been going on. You’ve been picking fights, breaking windows... you’re scaring people, Toki. All your friends are worried half to death about you._
> 
> _WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: That’s a big load of bull pats. Why would they go through all that trouble to get you back if they didn’t care?_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: The bands—_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: They found you. Do you think that was easy?_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Toki, have they talked to you at all about what it was like getting to you?_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Toki?_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: Noes._
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Well they told me. They didn’t have any idea what they were doing, but they went anyway, and followed any crazy idea they could pull out of their asses to do it. Pickles guessed they should look in the place where you played your very first gig as a member of Dethklok—_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: The Depths of Humanities? That shitshole?_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Exactly! And Skwisgaar—_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: I don’ts wants to talk about that asshole! Fucking bastards don’t gots no time for anything but sluts—_
> 
> _TWINKLETITS: Toki, no!_
> 
> _WARTOOTH: [unintelligible yelling, smashing furniture]_

~

 _From:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk_

 _To:_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk_

 _CC:_ _n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk,_ _p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk,_ _w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Consider this a band meeting_

> _Skwisgaar, I don’t know why Dr. Twinkletits is still calling me, but can you think of any reason Toki might be angry with you?_
> 
> _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Charles F. Ofdenson_

~

_From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk_

_To:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk,_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _uSUal reason right? not giving hm sodas? back ne up her gays_
> 
> _8=====D doodily doodily dooo_

~

_From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk_

_To:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk,_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _SOLOS!_
> 
> _8=====D doodily doodily dooo_

~

_From: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk_

_To:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk,_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _No. He’s just still fucked up from being kidnapped._
> 
> _Hey Charles, you ever going to fucking visit us man? Thought you were hamburger time again. Answer your phone when I text you. Dick._

~

_From: w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_To:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk,_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _Hey fuckfaces,_
> 
> _You’re all wrong!!! Take it from me, a real lady’s man. He’s upset over some chick who went and broke his stupid heart!!! I’ll take some booze over to his room later, we’ll talk it out, problem solved. Nailed it. ;)_
> 
> _—WM_
> 
> _ps, What’s with the “kind regards” signoff, Charles? Pretty gay._

~

_From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk_

_To:_ _c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk,_ _s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _ahahahahha mface thinks charlies pretty_
> 
> _cuz hes gay mface is gay THATS THE JOOKE_
> 
> _8=====D doodily doodily dooo_

~

_From: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk_

_To:_ _n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk,_ _p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk_

_Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting_

> _OK, thank you for all your responses._
> 
> _Pickles — That’s a good idea, it could be the lack of solos. I appreciate your input._
> 
> _Nathan — Recent trauma is also a strong possible explanation as to why Toki has been acting out lately. Also, I am sending you a text right now. Please text back whenever convenient, and perhaps we can schedule an actual call._
> 
> _William — I’m not sure alcohol is necessary in this situation, but otherwise I agree, Toki would probably benefit from having a friend to talk to right now._
> 
> _If anyone could advise me as to why Skwisgaar is not replying to emails, that would be appreciated. Good afternoon, gentlemen._
> 
> _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Charles F. Ofdenson_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that the Dethklok email addresses are based on what each band member said when asked, "what do you want your email address to be."
> 
> Toki's would be t.wartooth@guitargod.metal.dk.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is part two. For those of you who either have watched Friends or are [Calliopinot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801741), see if you can spot the inspiration.

**_SEVERAL MONTHS AGO._ **

After rescuing Toki and... whatever the fuck all that red light  _ motherfucking almost-as-good-as-orgasm power _ weirdness had been, the members of Dethklok tried to spend as much time all together as possible. Charles, in his new capacity as High Holy Priest, had managed to more or less convince them that the major players in the rhythm guitarist’s kidnapping were very, very dead, but it still felt better. 

Safer. 

Not that any of them would admit it. 

Another thing no one wanted to say out loud was that Toki was healing a lot faster than expected. They said it in quick glances — even Toki, who broadcast a startled expression around the room anytime he unthinkingly stretched while yawning and didn’t feel the twinge-ache in his torso as strongly as the last time. The first time he laughed at stupid shit without dissolving into a fit of lung-rattling coughs, Nathan and Pickles shared a look that said,  _ Was that because of... you know?  _ But at the same time, it was mostly a relief. 

Enough, anyway, to overlook the new and uncomfortably familial-but-not-in-a-shitty-way band dynamic in favor of putting the whole experience behind them, mostly by never, ever talking about it. 

They were hanging out in the rec room — not the hot tub, because both Toki and Murderface had bandages that, rules be damned, just felt a lot more comfortable when kept dry — and it just sort of happened. Maybe it was something on tv that prompted it, or some short magazine article that one of them bothered to at least half read before losing interest, but the idea was put out there and they quickly forgot who’d started it in the resulting clamor. 

“I am NOT the fucking band dad!” Nathan roared. 

“What about me? I’m a great father figure!” Murderface whined at the same time. 

“Booooo,” Toki crowed in response to the bassist, and then gamely returned his two-bird salute. 

“Dood, ya totally are.” Pickles took a swig of his cocktail, then a puff on whatever he’d just finished rolling on the sawblade coffee table. “Who decides when we’re done recording?  _ You do _ . Who hauls our asses outta trouble when we get into it?”

“ _ You does _ ,” Skwisgaar and Toki chorused together, both smirking. The lead even condescended to give his fellow guitarist a high five across the table after for being so in unison. 

“And Pickle am the moms,” Toki added cheerfully. 

Pickles choked on a mouthful of his drink. “ _ Whet? _ Fuck no!”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed with a wolfish grin, finally finding something he could really get behind in this debate. “You’re the one who makes sure Toki has his insulin any time we go somewhere and Murderface hasn’t crapped in any urinals after a show—”

“Hey, schut your piehole! I don’t—”

Skwisgaar cut both of them off with a snort of barely contained laughter. “So’s! So’s, I thinks what we all am sayings here, is... Nathans and Pickle makes a real greats mom and dads couple, HA!”

Both the frontman and the drummer scowled at that, then exchanged a quick look, then pointedly scooted hard towards opposite ends of the couch — effectively shoving Skwisgaar off into the floor in an effort to avoid Nathan’s retaliatory sideways tackle. 

Murderface seemed relieved to finally get a chance to board the make-fun-of-others train. “Come on, Schkwishgaar, schit over here with me,” he called, patting the empty spot next to himself on the other couch. “Let’sch give thosche two  _ homosch _ schome alone time over there!”

“Homos,” Toki echoed gleefully. He was already sitting cross legged in the floor by choice. The comment earned him some dirty looks, but given all that had happened recently he was pretty sure his two glaring bandmates didn’t really want to strangle him as much as their betrayed expressions suggested. 

Skwisgaar, in an effort to pretend he’d wanted to sit on the floor anyway, half-crawled half-rolled his way over to Toki and sprawled there next to him. He ignored the younger man’s silent request for a second high five. 

“We’re  _ not a couple _ ,” Nathan insisted, more vehemently but also more quietly than he had about the initial accusation. “Fuck, if I was gonna be gay with any of you sad humps, it wouldn’t be  _ Pickles _ .”

A brief hush settled over the room. And then it exploded again.

“The fuck’s theat’s supposed to mean?!”

“Schon of a bitsch, I  _ knew _ I’ve caught you eyeing my package in the schowers!”

“Wowee, why’s you been watching at Nathans in the showers, Morderface?”

“Forgets dat, when’s the last times we even has a locker rooms shower afters a gig? He makes dat ups, wishfuls thinkings!”

“Oh horschschit, like you even bother to check that the bonesch you’re jumping aren’t schporting a  _ boner _ firscht!”

“More wishfuls thinking, you haves my number if you wants to braves enough to calls it,  _ Williams. _ ”

“Skwisgaar, you just thinks everyone wants to fucks you, that ams you problems!”

“Okays, another countries hord froms! Raise yours hand if you wants to be with  _ this _ guys— ha, no ones!”

“Dood, you raised your hand to point! Theat counts! Skwisgaar would date Toki!”

“NO I WOULDN’TST!”

“Oh yeah, schmart guy? Scho who  _ would _ you wanna date, out of all of usch?”

“I’M NOT ANSWER DAT!”

Nathan held up both hands in a shut-the-fuck-up-or-you’re-all-in-big-trouble gesture. The irony was not lost on Toki, who giggled quietly into his bottle of vodka. “Okay, we can all agree that Murderface isn’t the brightest guy in the closet—”

“HEY!”

“Good one dood.”

“Ja, good ones!”

“Heh, thanks. But anyway, that’d be a halfway decent question if it weren’t so gay. So how about this... If any of your guys had to pick just  _ one _ of the rest of us to live with, who would it be?”

The rest of the room gave this due consideration for a moment. 

Eventually, Pickles shook his head. “I dunno if I wanna answer that.” Various demands to the tune of  _ why not _ rang out, and he waved them off with an irritable huff of exhaled smoke. “‘Cause! If we all go ‘round doin’ that, somebody’s gonna end up gettin’ their panties in a twist an’ act all rejected drama queen about it and shit. Plus, it’s still just the ‘who’d you date’ question and we’d all know it.”

“That’s how juscht a fanschy way of trying to pusschy out of anschwering!”

“Alreet then, you answer ya smartass!”

“No way!”

Toki took a big swig of the bottle he’d been nursing, then set it down on the coffee table with a bang. “I calls dating Nathans,” he declared boldly, swaying. “He give the best hugs!”

In the comfortingly familiar chaos that followed  _ that, _ no one noticed Skwisgaar suddenly going stiff and scooting slightly away from the other guitarist. 

~

_ Unofficial memo circulated exclusively among the nurses in Mordhaus’ medical wing: _

> _ NOTICE — Dr. [redacted] says he can’t write prescriptions for emotional constipation in drama queen guitarists. Screen requests as needed. Regulation 129-G est. by CFO is still in effect; fake prescriptions can be issued by all staff as long as proper Dethpharmacy asterisk code is observed and logged.  _

~

**_LAST WEEK... FROM NOW... AGO._ **

A few times a month the Klokateers hauled old out all the empty bottles they could find around the Haus and loaded them into a specially designed throwing contraption. The machine fired out one bottle at a time high in the air, for a Dethklok member to shoot down from a nearby grassy knoll. 

BAM. Shards of broken glass fell to earth like angry, polluted brown rain. 

“You wins a beers,” Toki called out cheerfully from behind his binoculars. He was lying on his stomach on the grass, propped up on his elbows and kicking his feet idly, having a grand old time out in the fresh air. 

Pickles sighed. “Damn, I coulda used a bourbon.” He passed the high powered sniper rifle to Murderface and plopped into the nearest black Adirondack chair, snagging a beer from one of the coolers scattered around on the hill and expertly cracking it open with his teeth. “... Ow.”

The rest of the band members glanced at him all at the same time. 

“Is it times for someones to visits a dentist?” Skwisgaar asked — but he drew the question out in an annoying tuneless singsong to disguise the implication of actual concern. Because sure, they’d all been through a lot in the past year or two, but that didn’t mean they had to be  _ obvious _ about giving a shit about each other. 

“No,” Pickles grumbled, with a guilty look that silently said,  _ Yeah maybe. _ “Just... maybe onna you assholes should pass the bottle opener next time.”

Another bottle flew into the air. Murderface gave a wordless yell and brought the riffle up too slow, firing but missing entirely. It was a testament to how long they had been into heavy metal that not one of them flinched, despite the total lack of safety gear. 

“Oooh, tough luck Murderface,” Nathan said. “Now you’ve gotta chug  _ this.”  _ He fished a water bottle out of one of the coolers and tossed it underhand, which the bassist also fumbled. 

“God _ damm _ it, thisch hydration thing isch brutal. I gotta pisch like a raschehoursch,” Murderface complained, but he picked the plastic bottle up and handed the riffle to the next person in line. 

Skwisgaar smirked as he took it and set up for his shot. “Whats is brutals is how you gets worse the more all dat water dulls de buzzing whats you have.”

“Hey, it’sch not my fault my hand’sch schtill messched up. It could be gangrene, I could  _ die.” _

BAM. This time the shards of falling glass were clear and glittered in the afternoon sunlight like freshly fallen snow. 

“Vodkas,” Toki announced. “A whole big bottle likes from the Costcos! Maybe you should pour some on Morderface hands, for the games-greens.”

“No,” Nathan said firmly. He had opted for a padded lawn chair and was reclining in it like the carefree metal royalty he was, calling the shots in badass comfort. “You know the rules Toki. He has to drink the whole thing.”

Skwisgaar shot Toki a glare as he snatched up his prize for the perfect shot. “You thinks I can’t does it, eh? Not goods enough to drinks de whole things?” He twisted the cap off, threw it in the younger man’s general direction, and started chugging straight out of the bottle. 

Behind him, Pickles and Nathan exchanged a brief look over their sunglasses. The intensity of inane arguments between the two guitarists had been going up lately, mostly on Skwisgaar’s end. If he had a bug up his ass about something, in their mutual opinion, he should just shit it out and move on. 

“That’s not what I meants,” Toki whined, but Skwisgaar ignored him. 

The chugging was interrupted by Skwisgaar’s phone going off in his pocket. He paused, retrieved it, and thumbed it open one handed while still taking casual gulps of straight vodka. This was nothing particularly unusual; booze was like water to these five kings (and possibly gods) of metal. But lunch had yet to be served, and breakfast had happened whenever ago, and even the half of the bottle he had consumed so far was adding a slight flush to his pale skin. As he read, a grin spread across his face as well. 

The only thing unusual about that was that it was a genuinely happy grin, which didn’t happen all that often. Like a kid who was too old to believe in Santa Claus but, for one moment on a sunny summer day, was inexplicably excited and nostalgic for Christmas. It was there for a moment, then carefully plastered over with the Swede’s more usual aloof haughtiness. 

“Well, I gots to leaves you alls now,” he announced. “I gots some much betters company waitings for me in mine rooms.”

Toki sat up, absently brushing stray pieces of grass from the front of his t-shirt and still frowning from being ignored. “You’s leavings? After alls that big talks about how you ams so goods at everything, like a big baby what can’ts really do its?”

“I’m leavings to go does its,” Skwisgaar retorted. A thought struck him, so hard he actually blinked, before breaking into a smug smile. “Withs my  _ gorlfriend _ .”

In the background, another bottle was pitched up into the air and crashed unnoticed in the field of shards. The rest of the band exchanged looks and busied themselves with drinking, texting, stabbing a chair arm — anything that involved staying the hell out of the brewing argument. Sometimes those things ended in hair pulling and bloody noses. 

“Whats?” Toki gasped. 

“Dat’s rights! Gorlfriend! Yeps, I’s finally settlings down wit’ someones!”

“You don’ts,” Toki insisted, but he sounded far from certain. “Whos?!”

“Beulahs!”

All the color drained out of Toki’s face, almost as bad as when they’d found him in that foul basement months ago. Not that this was a comparison anyone wanted to think about — it was just ironed into all of their brains, for everyone except, of course, Toki himself. What he remembered was darkness, then light, then red light, then Skwisgaar and Nathan manhandling his dead weight out of there, and one string-calloused hand trying hard to find an unbroken place to settle on his bare back. Suddenly it felt like that hand was being snatched away, because the name was actually one he recognized. Amidst a sea of nameless sluts and groupies that regularly paraded in and out of the lead guitarist’s room, one of the older ones had been turning up often enough to have one. Toki remembered because it had sounded funny to him when he’d first heard it.

Skwisgaar strutted off haughtily to no further protest, and none of it was funny at  _ all _ .  


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was while writing this bit that I realized, hey, I’m writing this for a Halloween event, maybe it should have some actual Halloween in it.

Halloween day dawned cold and crisp over Mordhaus — but the five members of Dethklok all slept through that part. It wasn’t until a much more reasonable eleven am that three hunched figures sat around the sawblade kitchen table, piled high with breakfast pastries, clutching steaming cups of black, black coffee in their hands. 

“Fuck, okay,” Nathan rumbled after a few mouthfuls of blessed caffeine. “I call this what-the-fuck-do-we-do-about-our-guitarists meeting to order.”

“Uh, exchusche me,  _ I’m _ a guitarischt?”

Pickles rolled his eyes. “Yeah,  _ bass _ guitarist. That’s barely an instrument.”

Murderface glared at the drummer, but chose not to dignify it with a response. Not an audible response, anyway — he may or may not have mumbled something containing the word  _ Thunderbottom _ into his coffee. 

“Stop bitching and pay attention,” snapped Nathan, who was absolutely not a morning person. “Look. Toki keeps going off and costing us money in damages and lawsuits, and Skwisgaar’s being even more of a moody asshole than usual. We’ve gotta do something about it.”

There was a drowsy silence while the three men tried to think while still in the process of waking up. 

“Does anyone else get the feelin’ that they’re, like... eggin’ each other on or someshit?” Pickles asked finally. 

“Let’sch juscht put ‘em in a room together and lock the door,” Murderface grumbled, still smarting from the jab at his instrument.

“That’s...” Nathan paused, mulling the suggestion over for a minute. “... Not the shittiest idea I’ve ever heard. Good job, Murderface.”

The bassist replied by flipping him off with his still-bandaged band, his other busy grabbing for a powdered donut. 

“What if they kill each other?” Pickles asked. 

“We’ll stay nearby,” Nathan said firmly. “I’m pretty sure if any of us get seriously hurt, that... thing would happen again.”

They all shifted a little uncertainty at that — except for Murderface, who inhaled at the wrong moment and started coughing and hacking on powdered sugar, which diffused the feeling somewhat. Because sure, That Thing had been brutal and badass and a rush, but the idea of it was still unsettling. It was the kind of experience that you half hoped, half worried would happen again someday. 

Nathan reached over and gave Murderface a helpful couple of thumps on the back, which helpfully knocked over his coffee into the bassist’s crotch.

~

**SEVERAL HOURS LATER.**

A klokateer had just finished bringing three fresh drinks to the hot tub when Pickles suddenly sat up from his relaxed slouch and asked, “Wait, don’t we gotta figure out how to get both’a them in the same room in the first place?”

“Uh.” Nathan’s brow furrowed. “Yeah... I guess we do.” He took a long pull from his beer. “So, uh... if anyone has any ideas, that’d be great.”

“Schuper leaderschip right there,” Murderface deadpanned. 

“Shut up! I had the idea to come up with an idea, I’m fucking worn out.”

“It  _ is _ Halloween,” Pickles said slowly, ignoring the bickering with the ease many years’ practice and more substances than just alcohol in his system. “Meybe we could tell Toki some story about trick or treatin’?”

“But what about Schkwischgaar? He doeschn’t even want to go out for schweet poontang anymore now that he’sch deschided to schack up with that fat grandma.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Nathan grunted. “Skwisgaar doesn’t even know the word monog... mogon... m... hrnnnnn... He doesn’t know what settling down even means.”

Pickles shrugged. “Feck If I know. Meybe we can grab ‘em while he’s still sleepin’, throw him in wherever, boom, lock the door, done.”

“But that only worksch if he’sch aschleep... What if we juscht tell him the fat grandma isch waiting for him schomewhere, and when he goesch in  _ that’sch _ when we lock the door.” Murderface sipped thoughtfully on his Bloody Mary, then made a face. “Ugh, thisch thing isch dischguschting!”

“Dood, then why’d you ask for one? Give it here, I’ll drink it.”

“No, it’sch mine,” Murderface whined, holding the glass as far away from Pickles as he could and thus giving Nathan a good look at the cocktail onions decorated to look like eyeballs and a set of plastic vampire fangs floating in the thick cocktail. “It’sch feschtive!”

“What’s you guys all doin’s up so earlies? Trick or treats hasn’t even starts yet!”

The three men in the hot tub turned in unison to look at Toki. Somehow he’d managed to sneak up on them despite his costume, which requires a moment of blank staring to fully take in — from the ridiculous umbrella hat on his head to the ludicrous arrangement of base drum, cymbals, and various horns slung on his back like a backpack, completed by an array of mouthpieces clustered around his face like an addition to his already weird facial hair and his Flying V strapped to his front. 

Plus, there were coins dangling from the umbrella, clinking against each other every time he moved. Nathan and Pickles exchanged one of those  _ what just happened here and could it have anything to do with…? _ looks, because he shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on them with all those noisemakers on. They weren’t  _ that  _ drunk yet. 

“What the fuck?” Nathan asked finally, speaking for everyone as per his job description. 

Toki grinned proudly. “I ams a one man band!” He punctuated the statement with a cymbal crash, operated by some sort of hand lever. “Where’s Skwisgaar? I bets  _ he _ ams too lazies to even does a costumes...”

“He’s prahbly still sleepin or something. What’s... with all the coins, dood?” Pickles asked. 

The flicker of disappointment in Toki’s eyes was so brief that his band mates didn’t even notice, quickly replaced by exaggerated childlike glee. “They ams my tips what’s I get for playing goods!”

“That’s, uh...” Nathan glanced around, searching his brain or possibly the room for something to say that wasn’t too jackassy but not an outright lie either. It was hard to tell sometimes what might set off one of the rhythm guitarist’s violent tantrums, and Toki’s bubbly mood could just be the manic before the storm. “...Uh... sugar-free?”

Murderface, still staring, spoke up in lukewarm agreement. “Healthier than playing for candy, that’sch for schure.”

“You got your insulin, right?” Pickles asked reflexively. 

Toki nodded and beamed and played a riff on his guitar, accompanying it with various clashes, bashes, and honks. 

In the midst of the cacophony, Pickles turned to the other two and said in a low voice, “This is a tickin’ time bomb. You guys wanna get this over with now?”

“...Yeah.”

“Schoundsch good. I’ve got my tascher in with my clothesch over there.”

“Okey.” Pickles leaned back and raised his voice again. “Hey, that’s real good, Toki! You wanna start trick or treatin’ early this year?”

Toki stopped the assault on their ears and clapped his hands together in excitement. “Oh boys, does I!” He paused. “But… it doesn’ts starts until suns-set, I thoughts?”

Murderface, ever a champion of messing with people, literally leapt up in his eagerness to cover this plot hole in their story. “Nope! I know a neighborhood that schtartsch early, scho letsch get thisch  _ schow _ on the road!”

As one, everyone in the room groaned and shielded his eyes in dismay.

“Goddammit Murderface,” Nathan bellowed, “stop freeballing in the hot tub!”

~

**ABOUT HALF AN HOUR LATER.**

Nathan pulled his dethphone out of his back pocket. “Okay, I’m going to text Skwisgaar now. Everybody ready?”

Pickles nudged at Toki with a sneakered foot to make sure he was still down for the count, getting the hoped-for lack of response. He nodded and flashed a double thumbs up. 

From his position by the door, Murderface held up his taser in wordless salute. 

They’d decided that the one man band getup presented too many improvised weapon possibilities, so they’d tasered him into unconsciousness, removed everything but his clothes, and made a couple klokateers carry him down to the studio. To make the whole thing more fair, they’d also decided to do more or less the same to Skwisgaar as soon as he stormed in. 

“... Wait, how come I gotta do all the taschering? My hand schtill hurtsch, schomeone elsche do it thisch time.”

“This isn’t the time for whining, Murderface,” Nathan called as he and Pickles hid behind the couch, just in case. “This is your time to shine!”

~

_ Text log between Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Nathan Explosion: _

> _ NE (5:29:27pm) — Hey, come to the studio. _
> 
> _ NE (5:41:02pm) — GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE STUDIO RIGHT NOW.  _
> 
> _ NE (5:43:26pm) — Some of your pickups in the new track need some work.  _
> 
> _ SS (5:43:56pm) — WHAT _
> 
> _ SS (5:43:57pm) — BOLLSHIT _
> 
> _ SS (5:43:59pm) — THEMS WAS PERFECTION  _
> 
> _ NE (5:45:37pm) — Prove it. Just get in here.  _
> 
> _ SS (5:45:44pm) — THIS AMS SLANDER ON MY NAMES I WILLS PROVE IT ALL OVER YOURS DUM BITCHTITS _

~

**ONE AMBUSH LATER.**

Pickles was helping Nathan drag an unconscious Skwisgaar into the booth with the equally unconscious Toki, when the drummer suddenly dropped the pair of booted ankles he’d been lugging and asked, “Wait, don’t I have some sorta dentist appointment to go to later today?” 

He glared at his band mates. 

“How come neither’a you dooshbeags reminded me? Now I don’t got time to pour bleach on my teeth first!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Little_Murmaider for the costume suggestion. [All the other suggestions](http://atmilliways.tumblr.com/post/179052252047/quick-i-need-a-halloween-costume-idea-that-makes) were close seconds, you are all superstars.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually googled what it feels like to be tasered for this. Apparently it doesn’t knock you unconscious with one zap like in the movies, but I figure that Murderface would just keep hitting the juice until it happened.

Skwisgaar woke slowly. He was used to the feeling of dragging himself into reluctantly into consciousness; years of hedonistic apathy and generally not being much of a morning person had prepared him well. Every afternoon or early evening he pried himself out of the tar pit of sleep enough to roll over and scroll through his dethphone, opening unread texts and emails then closing them right away, just to get rid of all the notifications. And then, recently, he would roll over and talk aimlessly with Beulah about whatever stray thoughts were plaguing him, because most of it was shit he’d kept bottled up for years and it felt good to let out. 

He rolled over, groping around without opening his eyes, and grabbed... a booted foot. 

That wasn’t right. Skwisgaar had a strict No Footwear in Bed policy in place ever since that time years ago when an overeager groupie had accidentally kicked him in the junk with steel-toed designer pumps. The only person that rule didn’t apply to was himself, and he even moved his feet experimentally to make sure he wasn’t high as a kite or something and actually just touching himself. 

... Nope, not his foot. 

Skwisgaar groaned and opened his eyes, then peeled himself painstakingly off the recording studio floor. After a brief second of trying to remember why the hell he’d been sleeping there of all places, and why he was so damn sore, he caught sight of the other prone body in there with him and abruptly stiffened. 

“Toki?”

When he heard no response he was over there like a shot, regardless of sore muscles. An unresponsive Toki brought back too many unsettling memories of when they’d first found him, conscious but limp and unresponsive, before all that god-like shit had gone down and apparently made him okay again. Well— the same little shit he’d been before, anyway. 

“Toki, wakes up!” 

He wasn’t proud of the level of urgency in his voice, but he was relieved when his bandmate began to stir and bat at him to get out of his face. Skwisgaar sat back, rubbing absently at a particularly sore spot on his back. 

“Whats happen?” Toki mumbled as he clumsily sat up. “Wowee, I feels like I just finished a reals intense workouts...”

Skwisgaar’s sensitive fingers felt holes in the back of his shirt, and upon further investigation noticed the puncture marks in his skin beneath that. He let out an annoyed huff. “We gots the tasers.” Not that he remembered it happening, but short term memory loss was a thing and where the barbs had broken the skin was a dead giveaway. 

“Agains?” Toki whined. “Dammit Morderface!”

A thought occurred to both men at the same time, and as one guitarist they leapt up and lunged for the studio door. They found it locked, and banged their heads together in the process. 

“Ow!”

“Fucks!” Skwisgaar rubbed at his forehead and glared at the younger man. “Greats, they locks me in here with yous. And they don’ts even leaves me mine guitars!” He patted his pockets and found nothing. “Or my phones whats to call someones to unlocks us out. Fucking fantacklesticks.”

Toki reached into his pockets as well, pulling them inside out to demonstrate their emptiness. “Me toos... Heys!” He frowned back. “They locks  _ me _ in heres with  _ you _ , ‘cause you’se gone all crazies lately! Problies wants to talks sense intos you because I gots so much practice listenings to that band therapist guy.”

Skwisgaar’s eyebrows shot up. “You thinks  _ I _ ams the crazy ones? Ja, little Toki, that ams real believeskable right theres, great stories. Now, uh, reminds me... who was ams it who goes balkickstick last weeks and launches into the concert audience last weeks for no reasons?”

He had been holed up in his room for most of the past week, and was less worried about Toki being on a hair trigger than the rest of his band mates. Possibly, he wouldn’t have bothered to be concerned anyway. Over the years Skwisgaar had gotten away with a lot — like dumping buckets of pigs blood on Toki during their teaching sessions, which was arguably worse than what the younger man had beaten that one guy literally to death for at that sober concert years ago. Skwisgaar was still alive, and therefore generally considered himself above repercussions where his rhythm guitarist was concerned. 

“I hads a reasons!” Toki snapped. 

“Oh realies? Whats?”

“Oh so nows you wants to know?!”

“Ja! Spits it out!”

Toki glared daggers at him, visibly fuming but, for whatever reason, working to keep a lid on it. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides for a moment, then stopped. “Because you never visits me in the hospitals, Skwisgaar,” he said flatly. 

Skwisgaar blinked. “Whats?”

“You never dids, not once! The rest ofs the guys dids, and ones on ones give me hugs and stuff and says they missed me whiles I was gone evens though they try to pretends nots with all the drugs and whorings arounds, but nots you. Nots misters Skwisgaar Skwigelf, world’s fastest  _ friend forgets-ers _ . Insteads, yous goes off and does all them meth crystals and picks somes old lady whats you decides coulds be your  _ gorlfriend _ , whats you don’ts even bothers to mentions untils you cans casually shoves it in my face as an excuse to gets away from me!”

“Forst ofs alls, I  _ did sos _ sees you in de hopskittles,” Skwisgaar retorted heatedly, so heatedly that there was actual color rising to his pale face. So heatedly that he possibly wasn’t thinking too far ahead of his mouth. “We broughts you in, I mades them let’s me stay. I sats through alls your surgeries what’s they tells me I has to wash ups and wear totally unmetals paper booties and shits to not gets you any sickers. I dids dat, you fuckings dildo, and yous asleeps through de whole things for fucking days so  _ don’ts tell me what I am or amn’ts be does _ !”

“Reallies?” Toki faltered, but then clenched his fists again. “I, I don’ts believes it. Someone’s would have tolds me.”

“Like de same someones what only admits to cares after you nearlies dies and no one else ams there to hear?” Skwisgaar gave a dismissive snort. “Sounds like a butlers thing whats to tells dat, you asks me, and he ams flown de coops. Does Nathan tells you he ams pretty sads for dat? Pft, noes. We keeps shits to ourselve, no one ever finds out then whoops no big deals, dat ams how we lives. And you know whats is seconds of all?”

The younger man didn’t answer. He still looked angry, but also confused, still caught in the midst of trying to incorporate all this new information into his world view. Even the mention of Nathan had thrown him for a loop, as though the near-physical bitchslap of his band mate’s words were opening doors to the hidden inner workings of his friends that he’d never even suspected were there. 

“Seconds of all,” Skwisgaar continued, jabbing an accusatory finger in Toki’s direction, “is dat she am nots my girlfriend. Ja I said she is, but I lied. Realies it ams just so fuckings relief to has someone to talk tos, no talkbacks, no judgements, no worries about ams dis metal enoughs, no has to pretends I ams getting high when I just has to feels stuff. Do you know how many... fucking things...” His eyes widened as his brain finally caught up to his mouth and tried to reel the words back in. 

They stood there for a minute, Skwisgaar with a hand clapped firmly over his own mouth and Toki frowning uncertainly, uneasily, with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Finally, Toki roused himself from the awkward silence to speak. “You’s a douchebag, Skwisgaar.” Then he went and plunked himself moodily down on the recording studio couch. 

“That’s... not a nice things to say, Toki.” Whatever reaction Skwisgaar had been expecting, it wasn’t that — probably better than beatings and hair pulling though. He drifted over and sat on the opposite end of the couch, just so he wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly by the locked door. 

“Well it’s whats you gets for beings a dick!” The rhythm guitarist was practically pouting. “You think it's easies that the onlybodies I gots to talk to ams Twinkletits? No fairs, hogging alls the goods talkings to’s.”

“Toki—”

“Classic Skwisgaar, not wants to talks to Toki.”

“ _ Toki _ . I am try to talks to you rights  _ now _ if you woulds just fuckings listkens for two seconds.”

“So whats you want, a trying to talks to someones award?” Toki retorted snidely, trying to retreat to their usual comfort zone of perpetual bickering and petty insults. After all, it was what they’d done for years. 

Skwisgaar just shot him a narrow-eyed glare and stubbornly clammed up. 

And stayed clammed up. 

Not saying anything. 

It was Toki who broke the following silence, even though it didn’t seem the slightest bit fair. After all, Skwisgaar had  _ just _ been complaining about trying to tell him something. 

“So...” Toki looked up from twiddling his thumbs. “Here’s what I don’t gets. I know why I ams pissed at yous... Why was you pissed at me?”

Skwisgaar’s gaze flicked briefly in his direction, but then dropped sulkily away. 

“If you was withs me at the hospitals, why dids you stops coming arounds as soons as I was awakes? Or, ha, why’d you fuckings lie about being in a relationships? I mean realies, whats am the points of that. It’s likes you goes outs of the ways to push me offs and be misters avoidings guy—”

“Looks,” Skwisgaar interrupted, “seriouslies, just shuts up for a minicks. Ugh...” His hands drifted up to his temples as though he needed to massage away a sudden headache. “I  _ so _ dids not wants to does this todays...”

“Bigs surprise,” Toki grumbled. 

“Cans it!” With a huff, Skwisgaar began searching through his pockets for something. He had to stand to search through his back pockets, and folded his gangly body back down as soon as he found and pulled out a many-times folded piece of paper. Toki leaned forward curiously in spite of his annoyance, but the other guitarist noticed and leaned away while he unfolded it. “Looks, I been talks with Beulahs a lots lately, and thats felt pretties good actually. She has convinsked me dats is because ofs... emoskionals honestlies, or somesthing. And she also says I should be, ugh, honests with mine... friends.”

It still felt weird saying and hearing it, after years of the band-wide embargo on admitting friendship. Toki shifted uncomfortably at the word and Skwisgaar looked like he’d just bit down on a lemon slice — though at least it was less cringe-worthy than  _ brother.  _

Skwisgaar cleared his throat. “Anyways. Uh. She says de stuffs I talks about to hers am times to be saids to you... because it ams kind of abouts you. And all de, uh, shits whats happen dis past year. So she writes me dis thing to say, I don’ts really knows what dat’s abouts yet but okays, here goes...”

His eyes skimmed down the page, which Toki couldn’t see was written almost like a Mad Libs game. It included blanks like  _ [a favorite pastime you’d like to get back to or goal you’d like to achieve in the next year] _ and  _ [whatever day or holiday it is]. _

“By anys luck,” Skwisgaar read haltingly, “by next years I wills be, uh, back to screwing sluts like normals because dat ams de rocks starts life dat... I was clearslieds made for. But for nows, lets me say—”

“Ams you goings somewhere with this?” Toki asked. “Because  _ I _ gots to say, I ams kindsa confused by alls this. Were you the ones got us locks in here?”

“No! Why woulds I does that and nots even lets mineself brings my guitar? Now shuts up and pays attentions!”

“Alrights, fines. Weirdos...”

“But for nows, lets me say. Uh without hopes or... whatsever, dose things am nots metal... Because it ams... Wednesdays? No, ugh, it ams de Halloween times. Because it ams dat, and... on Halloween you tells the truths...” There was a long pause, and then Skwisgaar crumpled the paper into a ball, muttering, “Pft, shoulds have reads dat over earliers, gonna haves to talks to her about whats is and is nots appropriates.” He threw the balled up paper as far as he could across the room, dragged his hands down his face in anguished, damage-control contemplation, and sighed heavily. 

Toki continued to stare at him like he’d completely lost all of his marbles. 

“Looks, Toki,” Skwisgaar began again, this time in his own words. Usually these were in short supply, so he was mildly surprised to realize that he had, in fact, been practicing for months without realizing it. “It was hards to see you ins de hopskitals, not awakes. But dere was all dats time we didn’t... realies looks for you likes we should has, dat only makeds things worse, and aftors you wakes up I didn’t want to haves to talks about it. So I avoids you a littles. So... sorries. Abouts. All dat.”

Skwisgaar glanced over, embarrassed by the paltry offering of —  _ eughh — _ actual feelings that didn’t really convey all of what was going on in his head. To his surprise, Toki was smiling. Faintly, grudgingly, but still. Encouraged by this, he continued. 

“Whiles you were gone was like... what ams happening, seriouslies. All de times. Likes a bad trips, you knows, whats you thinks dat if you gets some more highs den it wills be betters, onlies it torns outs to bes real hards whats to gets high enough. Big wastes of times, de whole things, but everyone’s was doings its, so... ja. Don’t wants to talks about dat no mores, you gets the ideas.”

“Not reallies,” Toki muttered, dropping back into a frown. 

Frustrated, Skwisgaar whipped around and glared at him. “Fines, stupid dildo, how abouts this!” He lunged towards Toki, arms outstretched, and with the element of surprise on his side managed to grab the stronger man by the wrists and pin him to the arm of the couch. 

There were some things that Skwisgaar would never be good at, no matter how many accolades he received for his mastery of the guitar. Talking, especially in English, really wasn’t one of them. And shredding on the guitar wasn’t applicable here, partly because he didn’t even have one on hand at the moment. And he’d never been much of a fighter... except for that one time during the attack on Mordhaus when he’d beaten off some of the attackers but, again, he didn’t have a guitar. 

So he did the other thing he was really good at, the thing he’d been trying to avoid doing ever since he’d begun to realize he wanted to. 

~

Out in the hall, Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface had scrambled to attention when the studio door began to thud and rattle. Then, as the two guitarists locked inside proved unlikely to actually break down the door to get out, the three other members of Dethklok moved in closer to eavesdrop. 

“I can hear schomething,” Murderface whispered after a while. His head was pressed hard against the door to give his ear the best access. “Ischn’t thisch room schupposched to be schoundproof?”

“No, just the booth,” Pickles whispered back. “Why, what the hell’ve you been doin’ in there that you don’t want anyone ta year?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Nathan rumbled quietly. “Murderface, move. Pickles, do you have a shot glass in your pocket?”

“Yeah dood, I’m always prepared.” 

“Okay, give it to me. I’m gonna try something I saw on tv once.” 

Nathan put the rim of the glass against his ear, pressed it against the door, and frowned in heavy concentration. After a moment, he flipped the glass around the other way and tried that. The other two stood by expectantly for several minutes, but the frontman’s face remained completely impassive, up to and including the minute he pulled abruptly away from the door and tossed the shot glass in Pickles’ direction. 

“Doesn’t fucking work, I could barely hear anything, so... I guess that means they’re not killing each other. Should be okay. Pickles, you should go to your dentist appointment. Now. I’m, uh, gonna go get a hundred beers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beulah has watched Love Actually. Skwisgaar has not. Toki... may or may not have, I was never quite able to decide.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the cute epilogue. Try not to throws up any bloods.

Toki broke the kiss, partly because it felt like he hadn’t gotten a breath in for days, possibly  _ years _ , and stared up at the blond guitar god. In the few minutes that they’d been making out Skwisgaar had melted on top of him like butter on warm toast, intertwining their legs and arms and tongues, rocking his hips with a gentle but insistent rhythm that Toki hadn’t been able to help matching. Both of their gazes were slightly unfocused. 

“Um,” Toki squeaked. “Why ams you kiss me?”

It was kind of a copout to suggest it was  _ just _ a kiss, considering how tight both their pants felt, but whatever. 

Skwisgaar bit his (somewhat bruised) lip and tried to pull himself together just enough to form a coherent answer. What he came up with was, “Uh, I think you knows. You makes me says it, I might haves to throws up some bloods.”

“Ew.” Toki wrinkled his nose at the idea, then looked thoughtful, then gave a soft laugh of realization. “Was you mads ‘cause that times I said I would date Nathans?”

“ _ Nej _ ,” Skwisgaar said vehemently, which meant yes. 

Toki laughed and popped up just enough to nip at the other man’s nose. “That’s stupids, Skwisgaar. You mores than anyones should knows that I…” Color flooded his cheeks in sudden self-consciousness. “...I would throws up blood on you toos.”

“...You ams rights, dat sounds gross. Gots to find a better ways to, uh, nots says what we ams saying.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Skwisgaar braced himself and dragged Toki down the couch by the belt loops, just enough so that they could lie comfortably flat. Toki gave a soft whoop at the sudden movement and laughed again. 

“So,” Skwisgaar said in his best sultry voice, “where was we? Ah, I remembers…”


End file.
